Golden Scarf
by Claudia James
Summary: Lil oneshot. FIRST EVER FANFIC! PLEASE READ! Has stuff to do with scarves  dur  and Hunger Games  BIG DUR!  and...well...FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF!


"Here." Her sister smiled as she handed over the scarf, her favorite golden scarf that she wore with everything, no matter what. "This will give you good luck. Not that you need it. I mean, you've been training since you were what, five or something?" She knew that they'd both been training for eight years now, as soon as they were able to hold a knife or shoot at something. But then, Shiva'd been out of the Reaping for two years now. Pashi was in her prime now, not too young, not too old, sure to get plenty of Sponsors. She takes it, not feeling its smooth threads slip between her fingers. No matter how much training she's had, it can't stop the worm of terror and dread weaving in her stomach. Not even her sister's favorite scarf can help her now.

The ride to the Capitol was quick and uneventful. Pashi didn't even see her Tribute partner, just fingered the scarf around her neck. Her stylists freaked the crap out of her. They had the newest skin tints and scalp piercings. One of them, some dude dressed as a polar bear, actually snarled at her. They waxed, scraped dyed, cut, pulled. But they couldn't get her to let go of her scarf. Why would she want it, anyway? Gold was SOOOOOO eight seasons ago. In the end, they just styled around it.  
>Pashi pioneered two new personalities for future tributes during the Interviews: brutally honest, and silent whenever possible. And all she had to do was open her mouth and think about her golden scarf.<p>

She wore it to her Introduction. Around her neck, while she was dressed as some lump of metal. Her style team couldn't think of what to do with her next, so they painted her gold and wrapped her in some itchy fabric that was "oh my gosh sooooooo in right now!". At the Arena, the shimmery scarf paired beautifully with black pants, an olive shirt, and her cinnamon-saffron skin. She knifed three people in the back, including her District Partner. A few roundhouse kicks later and she was into the bamboo with a backpack, three bows, a spear, and her scarf. It had just two splashes of blood on it.

That scarf became quite important to many lives in the soaring redwoods of the Arena. Pashi silently lent it to the boy from 6 who wanted to end it all. When his cannon sounded, she slipped the scarf back around her neck and hiked up a hill. A little twelve-year-old got scraped on the knee and was crying. She tied her scarf tight on the wound, then waited for the kid to smile.  
>He was shot to death from some unknown arrow-carrier two hours after.<p>

She found him. He was jewelry, all bronze and blue and green...from 4, of course. He smiled and said,  
>"You're the girl who never talks."<br>She didn't talk.  
>"You're a fighter. I'm a fisher. We'll compromise," he said, sticking out a big rough hand. Her slender, buttery fingers grasped his wrist slightly. They walked.<br>"I'm Kandor," he said. The forest held silent for her.  
>"Pashi," she whispered at last.<p>

Oh, crap. She loved him. Two weeks was all it had taken, and she loved his boy she couldn't have and might have to kill. They didn't talk, but spoke volumes to each other. The shaking of his head, the flicker in her eye, a tiny, unnoticeable gesture, and they knew where food was, where danger lurked. She would spear someone, anyone through the heart while he gathered berries and foraged for roots. They carried their provisions in her scarf.

It happened at dinner. They were stuffing themselves with mushrooms when he flicked her scarf. Not one word passed their lips. And they knew. Neither of them could kill the other. They would die together, or not at all. She smiled. He offered her a mushroom.

Three days later, the Capitol speared them both through the stomach. They fell facing each other. They shed no tears. They made no noise. Kandor fingered her scarf again. Pashi used up her strength to tie the long, blood-flecked fabric around both their necks. He kissed her knuckles. They rested forehead-to-forehead.

"Gold's my favorite color, you know," he said.

She smiled.

"Mine, too."

A sharp breath, then silence. Two cannons echoed through the air, synchronized. The smooth, shining scarf glittered dully in the fading light.


End file.
